


snapshot

by ttamarrindo



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Demigods, Fic Dump, Friends to Lovers, I mean kind of, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, dopilweek2018, jaepilweek2018, moonrise kingdom!au, now with lots of cameos, peter pan!AU, peter!jae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttamarrindo/pseuds/ttamarrindo
Summary: a collection of all my movie/books/series aus!i. demigods shouldn’t keep bad habits, but brian’s always been jae’s worst one.ii. jae burns so bright sometimes brian thinks even the sun should be scared of him. (sort of) peter pan!auiii. jae and wonpil run away. there is more than a storm chasing after them. (moonrise kingdom!au)iv. wonpil's been in camp half-blood long enough to know there's trouble stitched into the new kid's shadow.





	1. [jaehyungparkian] - lightning strike

**Author's Note:**

> a few things about the pjo universe/this fic:  
> \- when kids get claimed by their godly parent they go live in their cabin with the rest of their siblings  
> \- kids who haven't been claimed yet stay in hermes' cabin (he's the god of travelers)  
> \- this is not beta'd!! so sorry for any mistakes!! i also wrote this on a whim bc i wanted to try something new and improve certain things ;; hope it doesn't suck!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> demigods shouldn’t keep bad habits, but brian’s always been jae’s worst one.

jae’s been in camp half-blood for less than a day when he gets sent to the infirmary. it’s something of a record - or so sungjin tells him later, laughing all the while - only beaten by a kid who’s apparently some kind of Big Deal around the place. jae doesn’t bother asking, too busy sneezing into his tissue to care much. 

 

he waits inside the wooden halfway house and kicks his feet against the edge of bed he’s sitting on. the door opens, brings in sunlight and the cloying smell of summer, and jae hears more than sees someone gingerly take a seat on the bed next to his. 

 

it’s quiet for a while. there’s only the muffled half-sounds of jae’s sniffling, the cicadas chirping, the clang of metal when sword meets sword on the training grounds outside. then, almost shy and with the weight of promise: “what are you in for?” 

 

jae turns. his eyes are red and he had to take his glasses off because they were making him tired but he blinks once, twice, and meets the curious gaze of the boy perched on the bed by the window. his right arm is bandaged and the bandage is dirty, stained red and washed out pink at the edges. there are leaves stuck in his unruly hair and dry mud on his face, running across his nose and down, down, down his cheek. he looks young and more battered than bruised.

jae shrugs, waves his tissue around. “got into a fight with Mother Nature. not a nice lady, that one.” 

 

one heartbeat, two, (jae counts) and the kid’s eyes widen. his mouth drops just that bit open.  _ surprise! _ “you mean you fought mother gaea?” the boy’s fingers dig into the plastic bedsheets of the infirmary bed, knuckles stark white. “but she’s been asleep for centuries! that can’t be-”

 

jae laughs, sneezes again. “you’re pretty dumb.” 

 

the kid’s mouth slams shut with a click. he frowns, sets his jaw. jae supposes it’s meant to be intimidating but the kid can’t be older than nine, which jae easily trumps because he’s eleven, so all it does is make him seem cute, pretty even with the dirt stuck all over his skin. 

 

“i’m not.” he fumbles, blushes pink and autumn red. “i’m not stupid.” 

 

“you have to be though, if you really think i actually fought gaea.” jae laughs, sneezes again. “i meant my allergies, big shot. they’re kicking my ass.”

 

“that’s not funny.” the kid scowls. “and you shouldn’t joke around about the titans.” 

 

“whatever.” jae rolls his eyes, shrugs when the kid opens his mouth to retort. “learn how to take a joke, man.” 

 

the kid’s eyes narrow, glint an eerie blue. his forehead pinches in something that must be either annoyance or disdain. jae guesses it’s both. he wants to ask, if only to annoy the kid further, but then the door opens again and a medic rushes in, stepping up to fuss over the kid the way only apollo kids know how to do, and jae forgets to ask. 

 

//

 

later, jae learns that the kid’s name is brian and he’s a Big Deal alright. son of one of the big three, first child of the king of olympus in what must be close to a century. considering jae is still unclaimed and sharing a single mattress with another boy in a corner of the hermes cabin, it puts him much, much lower than brian kang, son of zeus, in the camp’s social ladder. 

 

but it’s not like jae’s bitter. sure, it sucks that a nine-year-old kid gets treated like royalty just because his dad sits on a throne up in olympus, but jae thinks it must be kind of lonely too. brian doesn’t show up to eat breakfast with everyone else and when lunch comes around he’s always sitting by himself at a table too big for his small body, looking lost and frankly also a bit pathetic.

 

“what’s his deal?” jae nods his head the kid’s way, sees him half-heartedly pushing at the bean sprouts on his plate. 

 

“who? brian?” bernard asks. he’s a big guy who was nice enough to show jae around the hermes cabin. now he doesn’t look so nice, frowning down in the kid’s direction. “it’s nothing. he’s just - you know.” he waves a hand around, makes a shoooooing motion, then a booming crack.

 

jae raises an eyebrow. 

 

“what bernard means,” a girl cuts in from the side, cuffing bernard over the back of his head with her pretty hands. “is that he’s a  _ zeus’ _ kid.”

 

“yeah, i know.” jae chews on a carrot stick. “but does that mean he’s got the plague or something? why’s he alone?”

 

“he’s the only one in the zeus cabin right now, and we eat with our cabins so...” the girl trails off, looking unsure. 

 

“that’s stupid,” jae says. by his side, bernard flinches nervously. jae wonders if sons of hermes can smell trouble in the air. “this table is full,  _ too _ full, and it’s no fair that he gets a whole table all to himself when bernard’s ass is falling off the bench.”

 

“hey!” bernard splutters through his mouthful of food, ears bright red. “jae, hey! wait up! you can’t go over there!” 

 

jae grins, and doesn’t listen because he’s good at that and you should always play to your strengths. picking up his tray, he makes his way through the crowd and the sudden hush down to brian’s table, who startles at the sound of jae’s tray hitting the table wood, mouth falling open when he sees jae grinning at him from behind his glasses. “what are you doing,” he asks, slouching down when he feels the crowd’s eyes on him. he tugs the collar of his shirt higher, like he’s trying to hide behind the fabric.

 

“keeping you company,” jae shrugs. “hey, is that a burger? wait, is that all you’re eating?  _ dude _ , that’s like, the unhealthiest thing you can eat. here,” he pushes his plastic bowl of carrot sticks towards brian, who stares at him dumbfounded and blinks like an owl. “eat this.” 

 

“i don’t like carrots,” brian mutters back, sitting straighter. his chin is sticking out, chest puffed, like some hero of old. jae can’t help but laugh. he’s just a  _ kid _ , can’t even choose his food right,

 

“eat,” jae points a finger his way. his mother is a nutritionist, jae’s been trained too well. “maybe you can fight monsters and come out the winner, big shot. but when it comes to cholesterol vegetables are your only defense.” 

 

brian doesn’t say anything to that, but he grabs a carrot and sticks his teeth into it, somewhat viciously. and after, when jae’s filling the space with mindless chatter, brian’s too busy making disgusted faces at him to notice how the other kids haven’t stopped staring. jae decides to count it as a win. 

 

//

 

a few things most people don’t about jae park: 1) he sucks at video games, and has (much to his shame) yet to beat mario kart’s infamous rainbow road; 2) he sings when he’s nervous, he sings when he’s not, he sings to make noise when it’s quiet and he sings when he shouldn’t. it’s gotten him in a lot of trouble but his mother says he’s got a good set of pipes and jae likes to think there’s some truth to that; 3) against common belief, he can be friendly when he wants to be and mom  _ also  _ says he’s stuck here until summer ends, so jae decides he’ll be nice. for a while.

 

“you sure you’re not a son of hermes?” sungjin’s eyes are narrowed and there’s a distrustful slant to his eyes but jae just got them off the hook after nayeon found them trying to climb the vines running up the demeter cabin so he’s not as angry as he could have been. “you’re too sneaky. like a rat.”

 

“not a rat, mom says i’m more of a chicken guy, but who knows, really.” jae shrugs, still grinning. “hey, wanna go bother the river nymphs?” 

 

the hermes cabin is alright even if it feels like one of those places you just pass through. then again, that’s always been his situation, so jae settles just fine in the cracks and learns to keep his things hidden away if he doesn’t want them stolen. 

 

brian seems to cling to him in his own way after what the campers have started to call the Carrot Incident. (capitalization needed, because as far as the rumor mill goes, no ones has ever pulled a stunt like that. jae, of course, revels in it all. sungjin calls him an attention hog because he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes to call him the other  _ ho _ word and asks him if he’s sure his mother is mortal because apparently his ego is big enough to rival that of the kids from aphrodite's cabin.

 

jae’s answer is to throw sungjin into the lake. the nymphs are not amused.)

 

the things is, after the Carrot Incident (or Jae Can Actually Not Act Like Asshole: Exhibit A, as sungjin calls it) brian hovers next to jae during combat practice and laughs at him when jae fails to stop jimin (a truly vicious daughter of ares) from kicking his feet right from under him with a swift sweep of her spear not a minute into their practice match. when jae goes to slap the back of the kid’s head in retaliation brian doesn’t duck away. instead, he kicks his chin back and turns bright eyes jae’s way, a challenge in them that seems to say more than just  _ try me,  _ seems to ask  _ will you even dare? _

 

and jae, well. he’s not very brave, but he’s always liked to play. and when jae plays, he plays to win.

 

// 

 

“um,” jae starts, more than ready to bolt. “why does the monster have three heads?” 

 

“it’s a chimera. of course it has three heads.” from where he’s crouched behind a rose bush, spear at the ready, brian sends jae a dirty look, like these kind of things should be self-explanatory. “didn’t you do your research?”

 

“i was busy,” jae answers (“running away from jimin again,” sungjin tacks on, receives two fingers digging hard into his ribs for the trouble). jae doesn’t have to look at brian to know he’s rolling his eyes. 

 

“i’m gonna take the lion head.” brian nods at the monster. “you go for the goat one. sungjin hyung, you watch out for the eagle one.” 

 

“could we uh, maybe  _ not _ fight the fire-breathing monster?” jae swallows, clutches the measly knife sungjin throws his way close to his chest. “i say we vote on it. those in favor of running away, raise your hand.”

 

a pause. jae counts one hand. (it’s his own.) 

 

“fuck you guys,” he says and half-heartedly runs after the other two when they go charging at the monster patchwork prowling up and down the lakeside. 

 

it’s over quickly. mostly because of brian, who’s reputation as a Big Deal doesn’t come only from his parentage. jae doesn't like the admit it, but in the two summers he’s been in camp brian’s discarded his good nine-year-old, scrawny warrior self for an even  _ better  _ eleven-year-old, scrawny warrior self. 

 

at thirteen, jae is not even half the fighter brian is. (“not even a quarter,” jimin says, when she beats him and sends him sprawling across the mud of the training grounds once again. “so stop whining about brian kang and get up. maybe then you’ll get to an eight of his skill when i’m through with you.”) 

 

point being: brian strikes his spear down into the ground after sungjin blinds the chimera-thing with one of those sour-smoke bombs he’s so fond of and thunder booms. lighting strikes soon after and just like that the fight is pretty much over. 

 

from where he’s standing a few (safe) feet away from the monster (now just a few specks of dust floating like lint through the air) jae yells out a delighted “go team!” and waves his arms around in fearless victory, then promptly yelps in pain when he drops the knife on his foot, point facing down. through the dull haze of pain, jae thinks he sees brian roll his eyes.

 

//

 

(“how come i was the one who  _ actually _ fought the monster but it’s you who still managed to land on the infirmary?” “it’s a gift of mine,” jae answers through gritted teeth as kevin from the apollo cabin cleans the nasty cut across the arch of his foot. “a talent, you could say.” “stupid,” brian answers, but he gives jae his hand when kevin starts stitching and jae needs something to clutch tight to his chest, so jae figures he doesn’t really mean it.)

 

//

 

jae is fifteen the first time he sees how anger looks on brian. they’re playing capture the flag, something jae’s learned is much more bloody when it involves teenaged, agry demigods and winning means getting to skip out on laundry duty for a week. jae, still a son of nobody and therefore also very much Totally Useless, is told to stay by the riverbank a few trees away from where their flag is hidden and guard it.

 

it’s a stupid move. brian and his team descend on him like they’re men starving and jae a happy meal. it’s over much too soon for him to even  _ try _ to fight back, and it’s as he’s getting his hands tied together that a son of ares from the opposing team gets a little too trigger happy and accidently hits jae too hard on the temple with the butt of his spear.

 

there’s blood (a lot of it) and screaming (also a lot of it) and the wind picks up, rustles and builds like a rubber band that’s been stretched too thin and finally snaps and brian is - brian is -

 

he’s a storm, the ones you board your windows up for, the ones that make trees shake and tumble down, the one you that leave you no choice but to run from them in one general direction: away.

 

it’s a stupid move; jae reaches out, grits his teeth, and goes forward instead of backwards. he clutches at brian’s sleeve, gets him to look back at him and if brian’s is a storm then jae’s in the eye of it. 

 

“hey, big shot.” it comes out slurred, and he’s not sure if brian can even hear him through the wild howling of the wind swirling around them. he blinks away the pain, tries for a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “calm down.” 

 

brian’s chest heaves. in. out. then, “stupid,” he says and it’s choked and tangled up, like he’s about to cry or something just as gross. “you’re so stupid.” there are fingers on jae’s face, smoothing along the wound on his temple, down to his cheeks and across the line of his jaw and it’s soft, hesitant. jae closes his eyes, breathes in the promise of rain, and passes out.

 

//

 

(“he went nuts!” “i don’t remember much of it, honestly.” jae cracks his jaw. there’s still a headache throbbing behind his temples but the ares kid had apologized already and seemed honest about it. he’d also been publicly humiliated by an enraged jimin, who exposed his underwear to the whole camp via using it as a flag the next time game friday came along, so jae considers the debt paid and his dignity revindicated. “i have never seen him like that,” sungjin says and jae shrugs, says nothing. but quietly, privately, he remembers the threat of a hurricane and thinking that he wouldn’t have minded if it took him away.) 

 

//

 

jae gets claimed on his sixteenth birthday. it’s september, which means he’s not at camp, but come next year everyone already seems to know all about it. 

 

“good for you.” sungjin greets him with a pat on the back. he’s an all-year-rounder, like brian, which means he doesn’t really leave camp unless it’s for a mission. which _ also _ means he’s spent the entire year sweating his days away in the forgery, working on whatever it is hephaestus children work on, and gaining muscle like counting sheep. in short: he’s grown. his pat on the back feels more like a punch than a hello and it leaves jae breathless for it. “finally got out of the hermes cabin.” 

 

“yeah,” jae answers. he’s gonna miss it, but the apollo cabin is bright and open and jae’s always been fond of yellow (a girl in kindergarten told him it was a stupid color once, said that no one would ever pick it as their favorite and jae, even at the age of five, liked defying people’s expectations way too much to let it stand.)

 

there’s also the matter of his siblings (he has many now, more than he can count) but they’re all pretty nice, easy-going people. jae’s always gotten along with most of them, especially kevin, who shows him to his bunk and then tells him “brian’s waiting for you by the strawberry fields” likes it’s supposed to mean something. like jae’s supposed to drop everything and go running to see the son of zeus at once. 

 

“well?” kevin prompts, like he’s expecting jae to do just that and  _ okay _ , jae’s always liked going against people’s expectations but bad habits are hard to break, and brian has always been jae’s worst one. 

 

he finds him right at the edge of the strawberry field, where the bushes run out and the plains start rising into a hill. brian’s sitting with his back to camp, and he doesn’t see him until jae is plopping down next to him, brushing shoulders and knees in the same way mouths says hello. 

 

“your hair’s blue,” is the first thing jae says because it’s been almost a year and no time at all. distance is a big gap to jump over when demigods can’t use technology, which means not texting or video calling or what you will, but it’s always been like this with brian. the younger is a constant, like sungjin’s nagging or jimin’s red nail polish. unchangeable. like gravity or the feeling of coming home. 

 

brian tugs at the strands of dyed blue with stained fingers. there’s a bunch of berries sitting on his lap, right there in the dip his orange camp shirt makes, stretched as it is over his knees. jae picks one, twists the core off, and bites. 

 

“i sneaked out a few weeks ago to get it done,” he says. he’s not looking at jae, but at the horizon, where the air shimmers like sunlight on water right where the camp’s boundaries end and the real world begins. “got caught by jaebum when i was sneaking back in. now i’m on laundry duty for a month.” 

 

“if you help me with archery training i’ll do laundry with you,” jae offers, picks another strawberry, twists the core off, and bites. 

 

“you won’t need that now.” brian snorts. “sons of apollo never miss.” 

 

“and you should have learned by now that i’m the exception to every rule, big shot.” jae laughs, licking at his fingers.

 

brian turns to look at him, head cocked to one side. his eyes stray, like he’s picking jae apart, trying to see what’s changed and what hasn’t, and jae can’t help but think of a little kid with a challenge in his eyes. brian is the same but not, different but not. he’s grown too, settled into himself like puberty was tailor made for him. gone is the lonely eleven-year-old who sat at the zeus table by himself and it’s not that jae didn’t know brian was handsome before (he’s been the camp’s resident Hot Stuff for three years and running) but jae tilts his head to look at him better under the setting sun and his world tilts a bit too. shakes and shudders at the realisation that brian’s not a kid anymore.

 

brian laughs and the lines on his face ease, his shoulders drop. he lets out a breath of air and slumps down against jae’s shoulder. jae swallows, feels a bit like atlas, carrying the whole world on his shoulders.

 

“promise you won’t leave.” it’s a whispers but it feels a lot like a secret too, like passing notes and sneaking glances. “now that you know who your dad is, now that you have your sisters and brothers, promise that you’ll stay.”

 

“hey.” a hand on brian’s shoulders, jae swallows the knot pulling tight on his throat and says, “my dad’s a dick. you know how he claimed me? he sent me a birthday card, you know the ones that sing? here.” he shows it to brian, picks it out from his jean pocket where he had stuffed it in a last minute reflex before he left for camp. now, he opens it with a grimace and is met with the annoyingly shrill voice scream-singing back at at him:  _ sorry for the wait! apollo is the name yo! have a nice life son!  _

 

“it’s a haiku,” jae says when the message is done, for what it’s worth.

 

“it’s  _ awful _ ,” brian laughs. he rubs at his face, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching until his cheeks bunch up. different but not.

 

“tell me about it,” jae huffs. “my brothers are okay, i guess, but it’s not like they’re my  _ bros _ , ya know? it’s you and i, big shot. you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” 

 

“gods,” is brian’s answer (which could be a prayer but could also just as easily be a thanks). he’s munching on a strawberry, lips stained red and jae blinks at the smile brian gives him, blindingly bright. it feels a little bit like being struck by lighting. 

 

jae blinks again. 

 

ah, hell.

 

// 

 

“help,” jae says, stumbling into sungjin’s room without preamble. “i think i’m like, in love with brian.” 

 

there’s a hum. sungjin turns on his chair to face jae, who’s too busy trying to become one with sungjin’s bed to notice the amused look sungjin sends to yugyeom, one of his little brothers, before ushering the kid out so jae can wallow in peace. “like in love,” he says, twirls a wrench around his fingers. “very descriptive.”

 

“like in love,” jae repeats in awful confirmation, feels the words sticking like honey down his throat. “god, i’m stupid. how did i not notice? aren’t there supposed to be butterflies or something. why didn’t i get a warning.”

 

“i don’t know.” sungjin shrugs. “it was pretty damn obvious.” his hands are black with motor oil, hair pushed back, and it’s all kinds of gross when he grabs jae by the scruff of his neck and pinches hard. “get off my bed, you stink.”

 

“i do not,” jae mumbles back, but he does. he ran all the way from the strawberry field up to the hephaestus cabin in less than a minute after his big, brian-shaped Realisation (a true feat, considering how chicken-like his legs have become since he stopped training at camp), and now he’s all sweaty and sticky. “wait, what do you mean  _ obvious ?” _

__

 

__

“i mean that brian’s been in love with you since you were eleven. god knows why, but he is.” there’s a hand on his shoulders, rubbing circles up and down, up and down. “did you seriously not know? the whole camp was in on it.”

__

 

__

_ “ _ no. i mean, it can’t be . ” it doesn’t make sense. “brian’s like,  perfect , dude,” jae whines, thinks of a sharp jaw and piercing eyes. careful hands and a voice as endless as the sky. “and i’m me,” jae finish lamely. he gestures down to himself, the bony knees, the bulky glasses. he feels faint.

 

“i never said it made sense,” sungjin laughs. “but look at it this way. last year, when wonpil asked brian out, he actually said no, and no one says no to wonpil. even you agreed to take on his mission with the drachanae when he fluttered his eyelashes at you last summer.”

 

“shut up,” jae grumbles, heating up at the thought of all the dumb shit he put up with for the son of aphrodite before he found wonpil making out with that athena kid, jinyoung or something, behind the barracks.

 

“the point,” sungjin pushes on. “is that brian’s in love with you, and you’re in love with him. or well. like in love, which is close enough i guess. what are you gonna do about it?”

 

“i don’t know,” jae huffs, turns so he can hide his face in sungjin’s lap. if realizing he was in love with his best friend felt like lightning strike then this must be the aftershock. the rumbling thunder and the falling rain. 

 

and jae doesn't say it, but he kind of likes it. 

 

// 

 

nothing, is the answer. jae does nothing. he’s too much of a coward and even sungjin’s Looks (which usually make jae either fall in line or run for the hills) aren’t enough to get him to make a move. 

 

apparently, he doesn’t really need to. brian, as usual, beats him to it. 

 

“you’re stupid,” is the first thing he says when he finds jae in the infirmary. his allergies are acting up again and there’s a whole pack of used tissue spread out all over the plastic bed sheets. 

 

“uh,” jae starts. “i’m aware, care to specify?” 

 

“you... ugh!” brian throws up his hands. if it were overcast, jae imagines he’d hear thunder rumbling outside. “i can’t believe you.”

 

“i’ve been told i’m too handsome to be real once or twice,” jae says, cracks a smile when he hears brian trying to hide a snort of laughter. “but i’ve got a feeling you don’t mean that, big shot.”

 

“as if.” brian takes a seat next to him. his hair is ruffled, eyes bright. “wonpil told me something today.” 

 

“should i be worried?” 

 

“i don’t think so,” brian shrugs. “unless you aren’t like in love with me anymore.” 

 

jae chokes, sneezes so hard he bangs his head against the headboard. brian chortles, passes him a tissue. their fingers brush and the touch it’s like the crackle of static; charged and ready to break free.

 

“how did wonpil even  _ know, _ ” jae whines. “is it some aphrodite thing, being able to smell love and shit like some kind of sniffer dog?”

 

“sungjin told him.” brian laughs when jae mutters a vicious  _ that asshole _ under his breath. “and then he told me. now what?”

 

“i don’t know. i haven’t exactly done this before.” jae fidgets on his seat, feels a bit helpless, a bit awkward, a bit giddy. his stomach rolls pleasantly, like the feeling you get when you’re standing right by the cliff’s end and ready to jump. “we could kiss?” he tries.

 

“your nose is all runny though.” brian frowns. “i don’t wanna get snot in my mouth.” 

 

“ _ dude. _ ” jae lets out a smothered laugh, cheeks red from embarrassment as brian laughs and laughs. 

 

“here,” brian says, when he’s finally calmed down. he sticks his hand out, wiggles his fingers. jae’s lost until he tacks on, “we can hold hands for now.” 

 

“oh.” jae looks down at his hands, at the dirt under his nails, the faint scars from archery practice (which he still sucks at. the only thing jae got from his dad is an affinity for music. it’s nice, though jae likes to think his singing comes from him alone.) “okay,” he says and complies.

 

brian’s palm is sweaty and jae can feel the callouses from years of sword practice running along the ridges of his palm. he traces his thumb over brian’s knuckles and doesn’t realize he’s doing it until brian hums, soft and quiet, and leans his head to rest it against jae’s shoulders.

 

“this is nice,” he says. 

 

“would be nicer if you let me kiss you.”

 

“shut up,” brian laughs. “if it weren’t for me you’d still be pining.”

 

“according to sungjin, you have been pining over me since you were nine, big shot.” jae bumps his shoulder against brian’s, hears him muffle a laugh in the crook of his neck and shivers when he feels brian’s breath hot on his neck.

 

“sungjin’s a dick,” brian shoots back, but he doesn’t deny it. 

 

“don’t worry.” jae smiles. “i think i was like in love with you from the start too.”

 

// 

 

(“fucker.” sungjin pushes at jae’s shoulders, making him choke on the mouthful of rice he had been about to swallow. “i can’t believe you didn’t kiss him. you lost me thirty dollars, you know.”

 

“allergies, man,” jae answers, grinning. “but here, if it makes you happy...” he stands up, makes his way down to the zeus’ table, careless of the crowd and the whispers and the stares.

 

brian’s head snaps up at jae’s call of “hey, big shot!” and he grins when he sees him coming, stands up to meet him halfway. the same but not. 

 

they kiss in front of the whole camp. some whistle, others cheer. from the back, jae hears sungjin yell out a disgusted “gross, guys!” but he’s laughing too and there’s pure energy running under jae’s skin, free and unbridled. it feels a lot like catching lighting, and brian, jae thinks, smiling against his mouth, tastes like a long-awaited finally.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on [tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/ttamarrindo)! thank you for reading <3  
> comments/kudos are vv much appreciated <3


	2. [jaehyungparkian] - second star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i um, have no excuse ¿¿?? i wrote this while not sleeping forever and at this point i'm just taking elements from the things i like and hoping they'll stick. i'm trying something new, something old too. not beta'd, sorry for the mess. as always, thanks for reading. it means a lot.
> 
> listen if you want: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KExBOL_RCA)

brian meets him at summer’s end. the air is beginning to stick, weighted and wet, and brian spends his time scratching at the paper thin days of the red-white calendar he stuck to the wall of his room with a black marker. everyday, he lets the ink bleed through the pages and stain like an old bruise growing darker still. killing time is harder now that he’s been kicked out of choir. 

 

he’s sitting idly by the curb a few blocks down from the half-stocked corner store. the pavement is too warm to be comfortable and the sun drips acid yellow on the sky. he’s got a pack of cigarettes on his pocket and no way to light them. from the opposite direction of the road, there comes to sound of footsteps. 

 

“watcha doin’?” 

 

it’s the california boy. brian doesn’t know his name but he thinks it starts with  _ jay  _ something - jake, maybe. then again, maybe not. he’s tall enough for his shadow to cover half of brian’s body, hair bleached blonde and swept back. dark wash jeans, green flannel. there’s a smile on his face. another one in his eyes, this one brighter.

 

what brian does know about california boy: 1) he’s a year above him, a senior starting next year, and the fact makes brian bitter-jealous because it means he’s also one year closer to graduation than brian himself. 2) he moved here from america just a few weeks ago, but he’s already the talk of the town. mostly because no one ever comes around here and if they do then they never stay. usually it goes the other way around. people leave, run away as soon as they can before the town chains them down. 3) california boy is bad news, but he’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened since terry he broke his arm two summers ago and brian took the fall and the blame and the bullet. 

 

“killing time,” brian answers. california boy smiles. brian is interested.

 

//

 

“is there nothing fun to do around here?”

 

they’re laying on their backs, heads pillowed on the yellow-dry grass of the neighbourhood park. it’s been two weeks. it’s been a lifetime. brian can hear the rusty swing set swing, swing, swinging away. whatever breeze is pushing the old playset forward doesn’t reach them. brian’s shirt is sticking to his back like another layer of skin and he thinks, he shouldn't have worn a grey shirt when the sun is this full of killing intent. there must be sweat marks darkening the fabric around his armpits, the trail down to his stomach. by his side, jae sucks on a breath and counts the clouds. (one, two) kicks his feet in timed counterpoint to the swaying of the swings,  _ tick tock _ . and so it goes. (three, four) 

 

“well,” brian starts, falters. says, “not really.” 

 

jae smiles and (five, six) turns to look at brian. his tongue is sharp on his words when he says, “but you’re here.” 

 

brian shrugs. he says, “i’m nothing interesting, though,” and means it. 

 

“see, that’s the problem.” jae’s eyes glint in the sun. or maybe it’s his golden rimmed glasses. maybe it’s both. but he says, “i don’t think that’s true,” and means it too. 

 

(seven, eight. and here they go again.)

 

// 

 

people talk because that’s what people do. in a town like theirs, where the population barely scratches the 700 and everyone knows everyone’s cousin, nothing can hide. brian learns this when he’s fourteen and kisses terry in between the branches of an old oak tree he dared him to climb. in the summit, he feels invincible enough to lean across the one, two, three inches separating him from his childhood best friend and steals his first kiss. 

 

he doesn’t know what he expects but what he gets is this: a push to his shoulders, shoving him off balance when a group of kids from their class rush down below in search of a missing football. panic stricken, terry loses his hold on the branch overhead and falls down to the ground like an apple, bruises like one too. 

 

that day, terry breaks two things: his arm in two clean pieces and brian’s trust in a multitude when he goes around telling everyone about brian pushing him off the big old oak tree when he wouldn’t kiss him back, even though he did. brian tells himself it’s gonna be okay and other such white lies. privately, he thinks back to that day like picking at glass shards or a bleeding wound and thinks, he’s glad terry broke one of the two. 

 

it’s not that one you think. 

 

// 

 

jae has a skateboard. it’s an old, ratty thing and brian is afraid it’ll break down if he puts his weight on it but jae assures him it’s safe with grin that promises nothing but trouble. 

 

“just think happy thoughts,” he tells him. it’s a whisper in his ear, and brian can’t help but shiver. even with the afternoon sun riding hard on his back brian feels his skin pebble. both hands on brian’s hips, jae pushes him forward along the street. with the barely-there wind breathing sweet nothings into his ears, it feels a bit like flying free. 

 

“there you go.” jae laughs. he rolls brian faster and then even faster still when brian opens his arms and pretends they’re wings. “second star to the right, here we go!” 

 

jae lets him go. there’s a breathless moment, caught between one heartbeat and the next, right at the pause before his heart starts thumping back again - brian opens his eyes and the world warps, swells around the curve of jae’s smile like the boy is gravity itself. then he blinks and it passes. brian hits the road and bites cement. he tastes gravel on his mouth, and when he smiles, he thinks he tastes a smudge of blood too. 

 

“you almost had it, bri,” jae says. he’s crouching down next to brian, whose elbows ache (from the road burn) but not as much as his chest (from jae, who’s to close and not close enough). he’s grinning too, something big and bright and wide. brian can’t help but remember that phrase, the one about hell being empty and its demon much closer than before. 

 

“wanna try again?” jae asks. his hand is dirty when he offers it to him but brian takes it anyways, says, “yeah,” and figures his happy thoughts weren’t that happy after all. 

 

// 

 

brian’s mother worries sometimes when jae comes around. brian can see it in the crease of her eyebrows, the shallow purse of her lips when jae greets her with a sharp smile and kicks off his shoes before he goes running up to brian’s room. 

 

“what happened to sungjin?” she asks once over dinner when jae is gone. they spent the entire afternoon kicking their feet against brian's bed to the rhythm of paramore’s albums, hiding from the heat and sharing earbuds. sharing seconds and heartbeats and wishes and a bunch of other big-small things brian didn’t know could be shared until he had someone to give them to. “he doesn’t come around anymore. you used to be such good friends.” 

 

“he’s busy.” brian shrugs, doesn’t say what he wants to say, that sungjin doesn’t come around anymore because his parents won’t let him. they’re afraid he’ll catch whatever sickness brian’s supposed to be spreading. 

 

“that jaehyung,” she says, puttering around, hands unsure. “he’s - like you?” 

 

“no,” brian says because jae burns so bright sometimes brian thinks even the sun should be scared of him. “he’s nothing like me.” 

 

his mother seems unconvinced. brian hums paramore’s brick by boring brick under his breath and finishes his dinner without another word.

 

// 

 

“say, have you ever read peter pan?” 

 

brian pauses. feet catching on the ground, his heels dig two parallel lines across the sand as he forces the swing to a stop. “no,” he says. “i’ve watched the movie though. the disney one, with the mermaids and the indians and the darlings.” 

 

“that’s no good,” jae laughs. he’s sitting sideways on the swing next to brian’s, legs spread at his sides. he takes up too much space. his shadow is long and thin under the setting sun, stretching across the sand like it wants to run away. brian watches it push and pull, thinks it just might. 

 

by then, brian’s calendar has run black. it’s their last day of summer before school starts again and jae is saying, “the movie got it all wrong and the book isn’t much better, honestly. jimin isn’t much of a mother, though i guess wonpil fits the part.” 

 

brian laughs, then stops when he realizes jae isn’t laughing with. “you can’t be serious,” he says because jae likes to tell stories. he likes to hear them too, so much so he often asks brian to tell him some and then some more, at which point brian will get tired of making stuff up and sing him a song instead. 

 

jae shrugs. “believe what you will.” his green flannel rustles in the sudden wind. summer is dying, and it stretches across the park like a last goodbye. “but i could take you away, if you wanted. you’d make a good lost boy, you know. the best. you’re already my favorite.” jae grins, secret-bright. his hand is soft where it rests on brian’s cheek. “but don’t tell the others that, they get jealous easily.”

 

“so you’ll take me to neverland?” brian plays along. “and we’ll never grow up?” 

 

“if you want.” jae begins swinging again. without moving, brian’s swing does too. “it’s almost nightfall. then it’s just to the second star on the right and straight on ‘til morning. you could sing me songs forevermore.” 

 

“what does it take? a bit of pixie dust?” the swings are going higher. brian can almost taste the clouds on his tongue. (one, two)

 

“no, that part they got wrong.” jae’s laugh is color in the air. summer reds and (three, four) picture perfect blues. “all i need is a kiss.”

 

(five, six) the swing reaches its highest point. in the summit, brian is brave enough to let go. 

 

and as he falls, and as he flies, brian thinks he feels the slightest pressure against his lips, feather light. endless summer greets him with opens arms and (seven, eight. here they go again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on [tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/ttamarrindo)! thank you for reading <3  
> comments/kudos are vv much appreciated <3


	3. [jaepil]- five and five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jae and wonpil run away; there is more than a storm chasing after them. (moonrise kingdom!au)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't write jaepil to save my LIFE and i'm probably gonna regret posting this tomorrow?? but i wanted to contribute to jaepilweek at least a little bit! i'm not even sure if i'm still on time?? ugh i hate time zone differences // based on wes anderson's moonrise kingdom. set in the late 60s!

in the middle of a sun-bleached meadow, right at the start of summer’s careful end, two shadows meet for the first time in a while.

the air is weighted with the promise of rain. the sun colors the ground in autumn reds. today, the world is small enough to fit inside a pocket. from the right side of the meadow, there comes a question: “is that a map?” a pause. the howling wind. then, from the left, the answer: “yeah.” 

the map in question is barely big enough to fold itself in four. their island is a small one, and most maps don’t even bother the ink it down. the land sprawls forward for a few rolling kilometers before it dips down over a cliff fall, meets the sea, becomes the waves. there are horizon edges all around. up north, there is an afternoon sun and postcard light-blue skies. down south, the bitter after-taste of home. 

pursing his lips in an effort not to smile, wonpil tightens his grip on his yellow suitcase. he doesn’t own much (two pair of socks, a sweater he stole from foster sister #4, piano sheets he doesn’t know how to read, one beating heart, two frail lungs, the name on his tongue and the smile on his face) and what he has he’s brought with him. he says, “i thought you said the point of running away was to get lost going nowhere.”

the wind rushes forward. up to the waist in the wheat field, jae scowls back at him and straightens his scout shirt. says, “even the middle of nowhere is somewhere.” he takes wonpil by the hand, pockets his map and the world along with it, and starts to get lost. 

// 

“ma’am, you’ve got a call. line three.” poking his unruly head into her office, the assistant adds, “it sounds serious,” when jimin keeps sipping at her cold coffee. where it hangs from the far side wall, the clock keeps on tick, tick, ticking. time is running away. jimin has long since stop chasing after it.

the assistant scowls. jimin hasn’t bothered to learn his name. she doesn’t plan on sticking around. eventually she sighs, picks up the phone. through the crackle of the speaker, this is what she gets: a few curt lines hello. the added insult when her voice betrays her a woman, the usual bullshit about speaking to a man. then finally, the realisation that park jimin is all this forgotten island has. 

“sorry, can you repeat that?” 

“one of my kids is missing,” comes the garbled answer. the connection threatens to break with static. jimin sits up straight in her chair. “i haven’t seen him since monday night, i think.” 

“you think,” jimin echoes, looks down at the calendar sitting by her desk. “it’s wednesday.” the caller, one of the island’s many struggling fishermen, harrumphs back. jimin grits her teeth, making her way out of the sation and down the dirt road where the patrol car sits. 

“yes, well,” the man goes on. “if you find him, you tell him he’s not welcomed back.” 

glancing down at the file the assistant gave her before she left through the door, jimin catches sight of a name. _kim wonpil_ , it reads. the explanation comes next: a bold, capital _orphan_ stamped in red lettering right over it.

“sir-” 

the line goes dead. jimin’s words die in the summer air. 

// 

crouching down next to a tent, sungjin turns to look behind him at the two remaining scouts in his patrol. he breathes in. says, “we’ve got a problem.” 

to the right, brian frowns. he’s fiddling with the rabbit he caught this morning. it hangs dead from his hands. he wanted to show it to them, proof that the nickname he gave himself has some truth to it, but this discovery has put a hitch in his plan. 

sungjin sighs again. dowoon makes a sound half surprised half afraid at the back of his throat and promptly shuts up when they hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind them. 

from the camp’s entrance, the trumpet blares. dowoon flinches just as scoutmaster im comes to a stop next to the three of them. “park one,” he greets. “kang, yoon, park two - where’s park two?” 

“uh,” dowoon starts, and doesn’t finish. 

at scoutmaster im’s click of the tongue, they all fall in line, shifting to cover the entrance to the tent. im narrows his eyes. he’s a good man. people like him, greet him warmly when they pass him by. he’s not that great of a scoutmaster but he’s been hanging around long enough to smell trouble in the air. today, it reeks. 

“what are you three hiding?” he asks.

brian pushes sungjin forward. before he can answer, the scoutmaster forces his way past them. opens the strap door, peeks inside.

“ah, hell.” he says when he sees it, and echoes like an afterthought, “we’ve got a problem.” 

// 

“why did you have to wear _that_.” 

pinching the hem of his sweater, wonpil holds it up for jae to see. “don’t you like it?”

under the sunlight, jae’s cheeks color ruddy red. he coughs to hide the words he won’t say. “it’s too eye-catching,” he settles for. “too easy to notice. like a target.” 

“it’s not like anyone will be looking for us.” wonpil shrugs. he left a note, pinned it to the headboard of his bed. it read: _went out to buy milk, be back later._ it’s been two days since. he wonders if one of the other kids hid it. “let’s take a break.”

“it’s too soon to take a break.” jae unfurls his map. it’s old and worn down, cracked at the edges and faded like old memories, but not enough so for jae to miss the dashed red line cutting right through it. scratched in neat lines from one end of the island to the other. “we have too much ground to cover, we should-”

wonpil sits down before jae can protest. kicking his feet out, wonpil pats the ground beside him until jae relents, giving in, because that’s what he (always always) does when the younger is concerned. 

leaning his head against jae’s shoulder, wonpil watches the sunlight filter in through the trees, fracturing like puzzle pieces. he reaches out with half a mind, as if to catch them, rearrange them until they make something prettier, something whole, but then - 

“stupid,” he hears jae says. he feels a soft pressure over his hand, a kiss on the back of his head, and jae’s pulling his arm down until he can intertwine their fingers together. wonpil watches their locked finger like staring at ocean waves through a window. five and five, wonpil thinks, something whole, and lets jae turn his attention back to the map to show him the way. 

// 

jimin scratches at her hair with a pen. the island’s scout camp is a mess of screaming kids and poorly organized chaos. in the thick of summer’s dying breaths, her uniform sticks uncomfortably to her skin. she crouches down next to the tent, finds a hole big enough to fit a body cut sloppily on one side of it. 

through it, she can see the camp’s entrance, the way in. or well, she amends, in this case the way _out_ might be a better fit. jimin hums, straightens up. the scoutmaster’s eyes stray down to her chest.

“so you have a missing kid too?” 

scoutmaster im falters, swallows back. “park jaehyung, yes.” he nods, staring at her lips. she painted them red this morning. men, jimin thinks, rolling her eyes. at least this one hadn’t made too much of a fuss when he realized the only police officer on this blasted island had breasts. “one of my khaki scouts, wait - _too_?”

“kim wonpil went missing this monday,” jimin says (“at least we _think_ ,” she adds under her breath.) “do you suppose his disappearance has something to do with your lacking scout patrol?” 

scoutmaster im shifts on his feet. behind him, sungjin slips a piece of paper on brian’s hand and quietly tells him to run. 

the man doesn’t notice. jimin, however, is not so stupid. so she watches. more importantly, she understands.

// 

“it’s our duty as scouts to help our fellow patrol member,” sungjin declares. he’s sixteen and not sure about much but he’s sure about this. he stares resolutely into the woods. he has a knife one one hand (stolen from the camp’s makeshift kitchen). the other is curled into a fist. “patrol, grab your weapons, we’re heading out.” 

dowoon grabs a baseball bat. brian grabs dowoon’s hand. jimin grabs the backs of their shirts. 

“hang on,” she says and gets three set of wide-eyed stares looking back at her in response. “you know something, don’t you.” 

it’s not a question, the kids are smart enough to realise that. they are also loyal enough to put up a fight. 

“define something,” says the one with the blonde hair. he’s got _kang_ stitched over his breast pocket. the name has been crossed over with black marker and replaced with two words: _young killer_. jimin has to give it to kid, he’s got a mean scowl. then again, jimin’s always been meaner.

“you know something about the missing boys, so spill.” the kids exchange distrustful looks. jimin sighs. “look, i can help, okay? i can bring them back. but you kids gotta give me something to work with.” 

“and why should we?” it’s the quiet kid who asks, surprisingly enough, shoulders squaring. he fiddles with the bat on his hands, looks at her like she’s something to fight.

“what’s with all the doubt? is it because i’m a woman?” 

“because you’re an adult,” corrects the ringleader, gripping harder at his knife. jimin has to hide a surprised snort of laughter, says instead, “i’m only twenty-two.”

they exchange looks again, this one more open. jimin can almost see the moment they decide twenty-two is enough of a kid to tell her, “they’re together. jae and wonpil, they’re in love.” jimin raises an eyebrow, feels the wind begin to rush.

“here,” kang hands over a piece of paper. up close, it looks like the ripped edges of a letter. “there’s more. jae hid them under his tent.” 

// 

the first time wonpil meets park jaehyung is at church. his foster dad keeps telling him that’s where miracles happen, if you’re good and pray hard enough. jaehyung comes stumbling   
in after sunday mass is over, eyes wide and looking lost. wonpil is still sitting by the organ, fingers pressing down nonsense chords just to fill in the cracks, and wonpil thinks he might be it. except wonpil is neither good nor does he pray very often. so then again maybe not.

“oh - hey,” park jaehyung looks caught off guard. it’s the first time wonpil talks to him but not that first time he’s heard of him because in this island their names are often not their own. at least that’s how it feels to wonpil, whose name has been chewed on and twisted by so many people and so many rumours it’s lost its shape, has become synonym to words like _orphan_ and _bad_. most of all also _do not approach._

the boy has a reputation of his own. people say he’s the worst scout on the island and they are not wrong. one of the kids who stays with wonpil (not his brother, just siblings in passing. they're sharing the same parents for a while. the same bathroom too) is also on the troupe and he’s always complaining about him, whining about his allergies and the way park jaehyung wakes everyone up with his constant sneezing, the way he messes everything up with his clumsiness and his nearsightedness. eventually wonpil gets tired of listening to him and goes to play music on the radio, but he remembers.

“i heard you once set your tent on fire,” wonpil says and presses down on a d-chord just to hear it ring. 

jaehyung pauses. then he seems to collect himself and shoots back, “i heard you like kissing boys.” 

wonpil shrugs, doesn’t deny it. it’s something of an open secret, the fact that wonpil kisses boys under stairs and behind closed doors when he wants to, if he finds someone who’ll let him. rumour has it he even does it at church. (it’s not true, wonpil likes playing the piano at sunday mass and he knows which lines not to cross, but he also knows how far rumours can stretch, how deep their claws can sink. he’s already packed his bag, just in case he needs to disappear.)

jaehyung is still staring at him, hands pressed to the hem of his scout shirt, buttons done up to the throat. wonpil wonders if he’s choking too, smiles at him slightly, carefully. he says, “doesn’t mean i’d like to kiss you, though.” 

jaehyun scowls, steps closer. foster dad #3 says miracles happen at church. wonpil knows he isn’t good enough the get one himself, but it’s fine. that’s okay. he’ll settle for this boy scout for now.

// 

jimin’s hand are rough with callouses; hardened from the effort of proving herself capable enough to handle the job, from the bitter disappointment of it still not being enough, from the sour resignation of being sent to this isolated piece of rock to rot away. jimin has punched people with these hands, has clawed her way through the mud and still kept her nails painted pink because if the world says it’s not time for a woman yet then she’s not going to listen.

jimin’s hand are the proof of more error than trial but now, as she reads the words of a teenager with a too-big heart, they’re soft on the edges of the paper, careful as they trace over the wants made ink. 

_dear jaehyung,_ she reads, sitting on the hood of her patrol car, sun soaking on her back, _don’t worry about me, is not the first time a foster family has kicked me out. i’ll find another one soon, and then another one after that when they get tired of me. or when the rumors reach them, whatever comes first. stop asking me for a kiss. i only kiss the people i like. yours, wonpil._

she found them tucked away under park jaehyung’s tent, carefully folded and hidden away. they’re written in cheap paper, reused pamphlets and grocery lists. one is even written on the back of a page from the bible. orphans don’t have many luxuries, she supposes, and needs must. she ruffles through them, reads one from a later date. 

_dear jaehyung, i learned how to play another song today. i think you would like it. i still don’t know how to read music but that sounds stupid anyway. you don’t read music, you listen to it. maybe i’ll play it for you on sunday. i hope to see you then. yours, wonpil._

it’s half a conversation. kim wonpil must have jaehyung’s letters but the one jaehyung has are enough to piece together the story. especially because:

_dear jaehyung, my foster mom caught me kissing mark under the stairs last night. you once said you’d help me run away if i wanted to, said you’d get lost with me. they plan to send me to the mainland to make me better. i don’t know what that means, and i don’t intend to find out. if your offer still stands, i’ll be in the wheat field meadow on wednesday afternoon. i hope you’ll come. i still haven’t had the chance to give you your kiss yet. it’ll be a pity if you waste it, i’ve been keeping it safe for a long time. only yours, wonpil._ ” 

“found anything useful?” the scoutmaster looks worried. jimin supposes he has enough reason too. not only is park jaehyung missing, but now the rest of his patrol has gone looking for him too. only god knows where the kids are now. 

the summer sky is thick with clouds. on the horizon, there’s the threat of a storm.

jimin sighs. “no,” she says. but she’s not stupid. more importantly, she also has a few calls to make.

// 

jae is as clumsy as he is tall, which is to say: a lot. wonpil is usually wary of tall people, mostly because they seem so much bigger in presence, towering over him, making it harder for him to run. but jae’s made of soft edges and kind colors, and wonpil likes to tuck himself under jae’s chin, fit his own edges along his and hide away. in the falling dark, however, jae’s clumsiness also means a lot of stumbling around.

“how are you a scout,” wonpil huffs out in a breath of air. he’s crouching down in front of jae, carefully sticking a blue band-aid over the skin of his knee after jae tripped over a crack in the ground and went sprawling forward, crashing hard. 

“my dad was one too,” he says because that’s how it works around here. jae’s dad was a scout so he is one too. mark’s father owns a bakery and so he will own it one day too. wonpil’s mother died of a broken heart and there are cracks in wonpil’s heart too. wonpil looks at the pack of band aids in his hands, then up at jae, who’s frowning down at the glasses he took off his nose. 

“i think they’re broken.”

wonpil reaches up and takes them from jae’s hand, sliding them up into place. they _are_ cracked. the right lense is scratched right down the middle. “i’m seeing you double,” jae says, blinking a mile a minute.

wonpil laughs, bell-like and high. jae thinks he hears birdsongs answer him back in kind. “better for you.” 

“don’t flatter yourself,” jae scoffs but the smile on his face is soft and the hand he lets fall on the curve of wonpil’s jaw even softer still. wonpil tilts his head, lets himself breath in. lets himself feel whole, if only for a while. the bandaids fall to the ground. wonpil grips jae’s hand tighter instead.

// 

when the call finally connects, jimin clutches at the last letter, careful not to crumple it. “get me social services on the line,” she says. “now.” 

the line crackles.

// 

“i think they’re close.”

“how would you know,” sungjin bites back but dowoon has a knack for tracking and jaehyung is very bad at covering his tracks. sungjin would be disappointed if it weren’t making things easier for them.

“they’re heading north.” dowoon is crouching close to the ground, brian by his side. he picks something up. sungjin squints. it’s a bandaid, light blue and telling. 

“that means they’re heading for the docks. i think they’re trying to leave for the mainland.” sungjin hums. “smart. we need to get to them before the police woman does and help them get off the island.” 

“i though we trusted her?” brian asks, helping dowoon up to his feet. 

“not when it comes to our patrol. we can’t take any chances. now, let’s head out.” sungjin chances a look up to the sky, at the grey peeking in through the leaves overhead. “there’s a storm coming. we need to find them before it hits.” 

they start to walk.

// 

“so, miss-”

“that’s ma’am to you.” 

the scoutmaster ducks his head, mumbles an apology. the patrol car bumps along the dirt-packed road. when they speed by, sirens blaring even though there’s no traffic to push through, people stop to stare. jimin sees pursed lips and shallow frowns. news have spread. by now, everyone on the island must know about the missing kids. 

“what’ll happen to them?” the scoutmaster asks. he’s clutching at his hat tightly, knuckles white. through the windshield, jimin can see the sky begin to darken. “if - i mean, _when_ \- we find them, what’s going to happen to them?” 

jimin says nothing. the scoutmaster grows quiet. privately, she thinks back to the letters she stuffed on the glove compartment of the car, thinks of the written promise to find a better place. she thinks of crawling your way through the mud and how it becomes easier, maybe, if you have someone crawling next to you. thinks about staying. 

she presses down on the pedal.

// 

the storm is chasing after them, but jae forces himself to keep on running. he can see the dock up ahead, can see the ferry that’ll take them away. take them together.

wonpil is struggling behind him, one hand on his suitcase, the other around jae’s elbow. the wind rushes, the storm howls. “we’re almost there, c’mon!” jae shouts, voice thin and frail over the noise. 

they wrote about this moment often because talking makes words too easy to lose. the wind is harsh and it takes his words away now, when jae tells wonpil to climb on board (the ferry is just a wooden boat, really. the islanders call it one because people here like to dream big-dreams about leaving and never coming back even though they never do). the storm rips his words away from his throat before they can make it past his tongue but jae pushes at wonpil’s shoulder and that’s enough for him to set his suitcase down on the boat and clutch at the helm’s edges.

“i’m gonna untie it!” jae calls out, reaching for the rope tying the ferry to the island. it’s a simple knot, one of the first things jae learned how to do back at camp, and he had to take a moment to wonder because this is everything that's holding them back. a simple double cross. 

trembling hands and cracked glasses, jae unties the knot.

from the boat, wonpil starts to shout something. jae turns to look. in the eye of the storm, he lets go of the rope. 

// 

the car arrives too late. by the time jimin is slowing down to a stop at the end of the dock’s road, the storm has already hit. rain is fracturing all around, and when she shines the car’s light in the direction of the sea, light halos in around a broken figure standing right at the pier’s end. 

the figure turns. through the rain, jimin sees cracked glasses and a beating heart. 

he dives down. 

// 

“miss - ma'am! _jimin_ stop!

the water is stone cold when jimin hits the waves, but she’s always been colder. the storm is raging and between the crashing it is hard to see. it takes her one heartbeat, two - then her hand’s clutching at the back of the kid’s shirt, not letting go. 

“are you _insane?_ ” the storm seems to eat her words and the kid’s kicking and screaming as she drags him back to the pier is making matters worse. she’s gasping by the time they reach the dock, where the scoutmaster heaves them both up. 

the kid - jaehyung - sputters and gasps, coughs salt water and chokes on his tears. when he finally speaks, it’s not a thank you for saving his life. instead, he points out towards the storm and the burning sea, says, “wonpil.” 

jimin turns, thinks she sees the outline of a small boat, sees it battling waves too big and fears too tall. sees it failing. jaehyung tugs at her sleeve, wet and weighted. says, “please.” cracks a smile too frail. “he still owes me a kiss.” 

jimin dives in. 

//

the patrol finds them like this: wonpil sitting in between jae’s spread legs and jae between his. wonpil’s head is on the crook of jae’s neck, hands gripping at the hem of his shirt like an anchor. jae with his cheek against wonpil’s hair, eye closed, privileged. the rain has long since become a light drizzle but they are dripping in salt water. there’s a blanket draped over them both and they're leaning into each other the way flowers curve towards the sun, always asking for a bit more. a bit longer. a bit kinder.

a bit in love.

jimin is smoking a cigarette, trying to warm her body turned blue. she has the scoutmaster’s jacket thrown over her shoulders. the man himself isn’t leaving her side.

“well then,” dowoon says, setting down his bat. “seems we’re late.”

the rain keeps on falling. they don’t seem to mind.

// 

wonpil meets him at the meadow. jimin says he has two hours before he’s got to head back home and start on his homework, else she’ll get mad. this time, he’s not carrying a suitcase, but a backpack full of nothings. all the things he owns (more than two pair of socks, the winter coat jimin bought him when the wind turned cold and the adoption papers finally came through, piano sheets he’s finally learning how to read) because he has somewhere to return to now.

jae meets him halfway. his glasses are new, his bruises fading. his parents kept him under lock and key for a month when jimin first brought him back but it’s not like it’s the first time they’re seeing each other. sunday mass is still a great time for wonpil to play him piano songs and laugh when jae tries to kiss him.

now, wonpil takes jae’s hand in his, five and five making up a whole. up to the waist in the wheat field, jae smiles, says, “are you gonna kiss me now?” 

wonpil smiles in kind, stands on his tiptoes to tug jae’s head down and press his lips to the older’s forehead, says, “i think i’ll hold onto it a bit longer. don’t want you running away.”

jae scowls back, relents. there’s a promise in his voice when he says, “as long as _you’re_ not going anywhere anytime soon.”

wonpil laughs, lets his head fall to rest on jae’s chest and fits their edges together like puzzle pieces. says, “i’ll stay,” and this time? 

he means it too.


	4. [dopil] - summer blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wonpil's been in camp half-blood long enough to know there's trouble stitched into the new kid's shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in the same verse as lighting strike! bc of course i had plans for dowoon. happy belated birthday to our woncutie <3

wonpil is fifteen when he first meets yoon dowoon. by then, the leather strip hanging around his neck has eleven beads and he’s been a camper long enough to know there’s trouble stitched into the new kid’s shadow.

“child of ares. i’m calling it,” jae says that night. the fire is crackling pleasantly and the air smells like summer. a boy from the demeter cabin was nice enough to put his jacket over the log wonpil is sitting on so that his jeans wouldn't get dirty (“aphrodite witch magic,” jae had snorted, like he hadn’t fallen for it before. “kim wonpil charm,” wonpil had shot back and pushed jae right off the log.) some dionysus’ kid snuck in some cheap thing that’s bitter enough to pass as alcohol and a good time. tonight, laughter flows easy and orange-bright. 

“hermes, maybe?” sungjin offers from wonpil’s other side, lips twisted around the mouth of the bottle they’re passing around. “he looks the part.”

“that’s shit, you always say hermes.” jae scoffs, taking the bottle from sungjin’s hands and passing it over. “besides, he’s too shy for that. like, do you _see_ him. he screams awkward.” 

at once, they all turn to look. on the other side of the bonfire, the new kid sits with his hands between his legs and his eyes downcast. his ratty grey sweatpants are ripped at the knees and there’s still the telltale shadow of an old bruise on the curve of his jaw. rumor has it he fought the minotaur on his way here. 

“what do you think, babe?” jae asks over the chatter. “any bets?”

from where he’s sitting next to jae, brian hums. “i think,” he starts, glancing up from where he had been fine-tuning jae’s guitar to send his boyfriend a look, “that you should shut up and go sing me a song instead.”

“rude,” jae scoffs, but he takes his guitar from brian’s hands, presses a rushed kiss to his forehead, and rallies up the rest of the apollo kids to start the camp’s bi-weekly sing-along with a choral rendition of a classic: fall out boy’s _sugar, we’re going down_.

the night smells like summer. there’s pink smudges in the air. when chorus fades into verse wonpil looks up, meets yoon dowoon’s dark eyes turned fire red over the flickering flames, and hides a smile, secret-bright. 

// 

in his first day at camp, dowoon causes quite a ripple. literally. 

wonpil watches from his seat at the aphrodite table as dowoon follows the hermes kids down to their own. he has his head ducked down, the tips of his ears tinted red, as if he can feel every pair of eyes trained of him. pinprick attention. wonpil bites down on a strawberry and swats hyunjin’s hand away before he can steal the rest from his plate. 

he makes it one, two, three steps forward. then - the earth shakes, shudders like a bad cough, and rips apart right at dowoon’s feet. 

in the chaos that follows (there’s people screaming, kids rising to their feet and scrambling back before the cracks can reach their tables. wonpil thinks he hears jae’s half-choked gasp somewhere in the mess) wonpil can’t take his eyes away from the way dowoon’s face pales when he sees the chasm opening in front of him. like a maul or an open door, it cuts right through the edge of the dining hall and leaves dowoon stranded on one side, the rest of them on the other. 

chiron has to stomp his hooves down hard on the ground for the campers to quiet down. in the silence that follows, the bright skull shimmering above dowoon’s head looks like a neon mark etched in shadows. hades has claimed what’s his.

“fuck,” comes jae’s voice from the other side of the dining hall. “looks like you got competition, big shot.” 

dowoon’s shoulders slump down, like the claiming mark that’s slowly fading above him has a physical weight that’s pushing him down too. brian laughs and it sounds bitter and slightly pitying. 

wonpil stands up from his table with a clatter. from where he’s leaning with his arms crossed against one of the columns, sungjin raises a curious eyebrow his way, watching. wonpil sends him a smile that’s a bit too playful to be reassuring and walks until the tops of his white sneakers touch the edge of the fall. he peers down inside the chasm, sees an endless fall turn into an endless black and become an endless nothing. thinks, _this’ll be fun._

when he jumps over dowoon is there to catch him when he stumbles. his hands shake where they hold wonpil up by the waist and it takes something closer to a little infinite than the second it really is for him to loosen his hold enough for wonpil to lock their fingers together and pull him away.

“c’mon,” he says, pushing gently at dowoon’s shoulder to get him moving. “follow me.” 

dowoon opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. in the end, he sighs a sound shaped a bit too much like defeat and follows after. 

behind them, the gap starts to close. 

// 

“are out of your goddamn mind?!” is the first thing jae says to him when wonpil shows up to archery practice the next day, completely unscathed. which comes as quite a surprise apparently because, “we all thought you _died_ ” 

“why?” wonpil asks back, can’t help but grin when jae’s face turns even redder in frustration. he’s got a feeling it's not because of the bunch of arrows laying limply next to the bullseye target a few feet away.

“ _because_ ,” jae starts. then he falters, out of words and convincing explanations. around them, the campers are starting to stare. 

“dowoonie’s not dangerous,” wonpil says, for what it’s worth. “i just showed him the way to his cabin. helped him get settled.”

“since when’s he _dowoonie_?” jae despairs. he’s got bread crumbs on the corners of his mouth but he doesn’t even blush when wonpil goes to brush them off with the edge of his thumb, just swats his hands away with the end of his bow and scowls even harder. pity, he was much more easy to manage when he thought brian was out of his league. (which he very much is, though it’s not like wonpil is going to say that. they’re cute together, and wonpil’s also got fifty bucks riding on them getting hitched next summer.) 

“it’s cute.” wonpil shrugs. “like him.”

“oh god.” jae’s face does the Thing where it’s half horror, half disgust and a whole lot of disbelief. a look usually reserved for when brian somehow manages to shovel three burgers down his throat in a single lunch, though this time there’s not a trace of the exasperated fondness it’s paired with when the son of zeus is involved. (sungjin is _so_ losing their bet.) 

“you have a crush on him,” jae says, wide-eyed in realisation. “you wanna suck his dick and hold his hand. you can’t. oh, my god.” 

“don’t tell me what i can and can’t do.” wonpil smiles pleasantly, but there’s an edge of a threat hidden in his smile.

jae protests, “but you’re like, five.” 

“i’m _fifteen_ ,” wonpil says back, taking jae’s bow from him and cocking an arrow. “besides, it’s not like i haven’t done stuff before, you know. much more than you for sure. i bet you haven’t even kissed brian with tongue yet.” 

“shut up!” jae splutters, face red. wonpil laughs, pulls his elbow back, and shoots. it hits bullseye. 

// 

eventually, the camp settles down. it takes a while, but soon enough people stop sidestepping around dowoon when he passes by. the staring dials down enough for it to go from a constant discomfort to a quiet itch at the back of the mind and once dowoon ditches the dark shirts and ripped jeans for the camp’s standard orange tees he almost, almost, manages to blend in. 

brian takes a liking to him, much to jae’s discontent. wonpil can’t say he’s surprised, considering they’re both the only children of the big three in quite a few decades and brian has learned through more error than trial how to deal with his name being passed around camp like one of their dusty practice swords. it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. 

they spend a lot of time practicing together. more often than not wonpil finds them both down by the barracks, blunt-edged swords in hand as brian patiently walks dowoon through the basics of sword fighting. he and jae make a habit to sit by the sidelines, cheering them on and getting more petty than the actual fighters when the match threatens to tip in favor of one of them. those days, the world shimmers blue. 

sungjin takes one look at dowoon’s arms, the subtle show of muscle wonpil had also taken quick note of, and drags the boy with him down to the forgery. when dowoon comes back he’s up to his elbows in grease and his face is covered in a layer of soot wonpil does his best to brush off. he’s also smiling wider than wonpil has ever seen, so he figures it’s okay.

dowoon fits himself into their little group, carves himself a corner when sungjin grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drops an arm across his shoulders. fits his edges into their puzzle pieces when he cracks a joke that’s just awkward enough to get jae laughing in shades of green and not stopping until he’s wheezing. it’s easy, familiar, but at the end of the day, he always comes back to wonpil. 

“thank you,” he says one day, about two weeks since he first arrived at camp. the sun is chasing the horizon over by the lake’s end and the waves lap gently at wonpil’s bare feet from where he sits with his legs dangling over the edge of the pier. dowoon takes a seat by his side, legs crossed together and jaw set tight. 

“what for?” wonpil asks, watching the water ripple when he kicks his feet back and forth, back and forth. the sky begins to purple.

“being nice,” dowoon says simply, colors red as soon as the words leave his mouth. clumsy with his feelings. “and not - not being scared of me. when i first got here, even knowing who my father is. what i am.” 

“you’re sweet, that’s what you are.” wonpil bumps his shoulder against dowoon’s, then sighs when he sees dowoon frowning still. “and you don’t have to thank me, silly. we’re not our parents, you know.” 

“i know,” dowoon hurries to say. “but still. thanks.” and he smiles then, soft and almost quiet-like. and wonpil thinks, if his smile were a sound it’d be a whisper, the tilting end to a sigh and the soft _oh_ before a kiss. sounds made watercolor. 

“whatever.” wonpil turns away, hopes dowoon doesn’t see the sudden ruddy red rising high on his cheeks. wonpil doesn’t get flustered, he’s the one who does the flustering. then again, dowoon’s always been an exception. so this - the sudden itch underneath his skin, to urge to lean closer and then even closer still, the warmth sinking like syrup in his stomach and the slow red staining at the edges - this is fitting too.

“i gotta go.” dowoon stretches his arms out, sighs in resignation. “i’m on laundry duty tonight.”

“sucks.” wonpil offers. then, before dowoon can step off the pier, he reaches a hand into the waves and splashes dowoon right across the face. water drips down to his shirt, and he splutters, coughs and gapes disbelievingly down at wonpil, who chortles back at him. “now you have to wash your shirt too.” 

dowoon stutters on a laugh, then he launches forward and knocks wonpil off his feet and right down into the lake. 

they’re both laughing when they come up for air because wonpil wasn’t going down without a fight; he dragged dowoon into the lake by his ankles when he felt himself starting to fall. dowoon’s hair is made darker by the water, plastered across his forehead in wet clumps. when wonpil goes to swipe it away from his eyes he hears dowoon’s breath hitch, feet kicking harder to stay afloat. wonpil leans closer, tangles their legs together, tastes sweet water when he licks across his lips and-

“you better watch out, dowoon!” there’s a strangled cry, the muffled shout of _god, jae shut up_ and wonpil and dowoon twist away from each other to see brian and sungjin trying to hold jae back, who hollers at dowoon to, “run! wonpil’s trying to get you naked! run!” 

wonpil laughs, calls back, “how do you know we aren't naked already!” and - because the water is up to their necks and twilight is fast ebbing into night - jae chokes on his tongue at the possibility. 

“children!” he manages to scream back before brian clamps a hand over his mouth. he’s laughing too. sungjin drags them both away. “you’re both children!”

it’s dark when they get back to dowoon’s cabin - wonpil insisted because the aphrodite cabin is more cramped now that hyunjin moved in and jeno got claimed a week before that. dowoon didn’t put nearly as much of a fight as he would have if he had been against the idea.

in the darkness of the bedroom, wonpil sits on the edge of dowoon’s bed and dries dowoon’s hair with a towel, then switches positions so dowoon can do the same for him. there’s a sliver of pink drifting in through the window, stretching across the floor and brushing against wonpil’s bare feet. 

wonpil falls asleep in dowoon’s bed, dragging the other boy down with him when he makes to take one of the many others spread around the room. dowoon’s arm is splayed across his stomach. wonpil tightens the grip he has on dowoon’s wrist to pull him closer. with his back pressed against dowoon’s chest and the boy’s heartbeat steadily beat, beat, beating, dark blue sleep catches up to him soon enough. 

// 

dowoon goes missing the next summer. well, he actually never makes it to camp, which means he’s not exactly _missing_ , just lost. at least that’s what wonpil tells chiron when the camp chief demands to know why wonpil thinks it’s okay to break camp rules and go look for the child of hades. 

“i mean,” wonpil says, zipping his backpack close and sliding his knife into his right boot for safe-keeping. “dowoon still can’t tell which bathroom is the girl’s and which the boy’s, so.” 

“fine.” chiron sighs heavily and pinches his brows. his tail fickers in annoyance behind him. “you can go.” 

“great.” wonpil nods, doesn’t say what they both already know; he would have gone with or without permission. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

sungjin, brian and jae catch up to him at the top of the hill before he leaves. sungjin pats him on the back, slips a few sour-smoke bombs into his backpack and wishes him good luck. jae scowls and awkwardly tries to hug him only to swat him over the head after he lets him go.

“yes, i know. i’ll take care,” wonpil says in answer. jae smiles. it looks forced, but chiron was very adamant about not sending more than one person out on a search party when they couldn’t be sure if the missing person even wants to be found, so that’s all he can settle for.

brian says, “i trust you to bring him back,” and hugs wonpil tight. means something along the lines of _i trust you to remind him why he has to_. 

wonpil nods at them and sets off just as dawn begins to break. the sky is a muted slab of grey.

// 

 

wonpil’s father, before he left to play picket fence with another, better family, used to say that love was like a bullet. you find your target, aim, and when you shoot, you shoot to kill. 

finding out his mother was the goddess of love kind of put things into perspective. wonpil only met her once, when he was thirteen and bleeding from a wound to the stomach. he had gotten separated from his group, cornered by three empousa in a dark alley, too far away to call for help and too tired to run.

he had been bleeding, thinking about the camp at sunset and the way jinyoung’s face fell after wonpil was done spinning his lies and stealing a few kisses. it had been mean and uncalled for and as the sun began to set over the city and wonpil’s breathing got more and more labored, he felt guilty enough to ask for a chance to apologize. a chance to do things better, this time around.

and then his mother - a quiet breeze, the scent of perfume, and the feeling of pricking your finger on a rose’s thorn. 

wonpil had blinked tired eyes, caught sight of a blurry smile, lips painted red. had felt a hand pressing into his stomach, then a surge of warmth seeping down, down, down into his skin. breathing got easier. the wind brought a promise. _a gift_ it said. _for my favorite son, so you can see._

when the group found him again wonpil had been standing on his own two feet, eyes wide as chaeyoung and mina skidded to a stop before him. 

“you okay, kid?” chaeyoung asked and it had taken a while for wonpil to rip his eyes away from the pinkish shimmer he could now see stretching between mina, who was still clutching at her spear, (leaning slightly towards chaeyoung, like it was something inevitable, something right) and chaeyoung, bloodied and bruised from the fight. 

“yeah.” wonpil hands had gone down to his stomach, felt for his camp shirt, sticky with blood, but no wound to show under it. it had ached still. “i’m fine,” he’d said, and watched as the pink shimmer glowed brighter when chaeyoung took mina’s hand in hers.

// 

wonpil finds him on a beach a few hours away from the city proper. it’s easy to track him down, considering demigods attract trouble like charged magnets and dowoon is a particularly powerful one. wonpil still has the newspaper clipping trail he followed jammed somewhere inside his backpack (2 car accidents, 1 burned down parking lot and no less than 3 trashed walmarts). 

dowoon is sitting by the shore. he has his camp shirt on, the almost-neon orange looking faded and washed out in the dimming light of the sunset. wonpil sees a bruise on his jaw and a few scratches on his face when he plops down next to him. he seems okay but wonpil knows how easy that impression is to break. 

“sorry,” is the first thing dowoon says. he sniffles, shakes his head when wonpil offers him a tissue only to wipe the snot off his nose with the edge of his sleeve.

“it’s okay.” wonpil smiles. “i’ve been wanting to get out of camp for a while now, and this is nice.” he stretches his feet out, kicks his shoes off so he can dig his heels in and draw shapes in the sand. a diamond. a wobbly circle. two pieces of a heart.

“my dad,” dowoon says then pauses. regroups. “he visited me this winter. at christmas. said he wanted to be a better father, whatever that means. he brought me a sword and then left before we got to eat the turkey.”

wonpil hums, leans his head on dowoon’s shoulder, who lets his own head drop to rest on top of wonpil’s. wonpil’s hair tickles at his nose. dowoon sneezes.

“my family sucks,” dowoon says when the sun drips watercolor red into the ocean and spreads like paint over the waves. 

“i take offense to that,” wonpil shoots back, and laughs at the panicked look dowoon gives him in return. “and i know brian would swat you across the head if he heard you say that. jae and sungjin too.” 

“that’s not what i meant.” dowoon swallows, hands tightened where wonpil’s locked their fingers together. “my family - i mean, my dad, he -” 

“i know,” wonpil cuts in before dowoon’s words can get the better of him. “but i meant it too. we’re family, dowoonie, and we’re waiting for you to come back home.” 

and wonpil can’t show it to dowoon like he wants to, the way color shimmers between them five. autumn reds and glitter pinks stretched tight like hands-interlocked between brian and jae, sungjin’s deep reds and rough-ended greens, circling around and around, getting brighter when jae laughs or brian smiles, lighting up when wonpil presses a kiss to his cheek and dowoon gets brave enough to sing. 

wonpil’s own blues, fracturing like heartbreak, mending slowly like spring. they latch onto dowoon, find an anchor in the way dowoon’s shadow pulls closer. after all, black is meant to draw everything in and wonpil thinks, in moments like this, he has no gravity. 

“sorry,” dowoon says again and his voice is colored gold when he says, “let’s go back home.” 

// 

they don’t exactly do that. go back home, that is. 

“it’s been way too long since i’ve been to the city,” wonpil whines when dowoon starts to protest, tugging on his sleeve. “we can’t waste this opportunity.” 

dowoon seems unsure, but wonpil is not a son of aphrodite for nothing. he caves eventually, and they spent the rest of the night wandering through nightlit streets, eating ice cream despite the cold. wonpil tucks his hands inside dowoon’s pockets when his fingers start to turn blue only for dowoon to pull them right back out and blow warm air over them. he kisses wonpil’s knuckles like it’s a reflex. wonpil laughs when dowoon turns red, realizing just what he’s done and brings him in closer to steal another kiss instead. 

except this one is not stolen. dowoon leans down the last few inches and slots his mouth against wonpil’s own, chases the aftertaste of strawberry with his tongue and gives more than takes, easy and slow. 

they reach camp just as dawn breaks. dowoon passes out as soon as his feet touch grass because he’s been running through shadows and using them to travel since he went left instead of right, chose to take a detour on his way to camp. he also had to bring them back because they were stupid (or stupidly in love) enough to spend all their money on their night out and the bus driver wouldn’t let them freeload. 

brian finds wonpil halfway down to the infirmary and helps him drag dowoon the rest of the way there. he shoulders half of dowoon’s weight and the air shimmers summer-yellow as they trail by, watercolor marks in their footsteps. 

“what did you guys even do to make him this tired?” jae asks, dipping a rug in cool water and carefully wiping away the layer of sweat on dowoon’s forehead. the infirmary is empty except for them, one of those rare days when everything is quiet and no one’s broken any bones. jae kicked the rest of the medics out as soon as he stepped inside, citing his own heritage as proof that he could take care of everything even when they all know it’s bullshit. jae’s as bad at healing as he is at archery.

sungjin sits on the bedside table, peeling an orange with a knife he found laying around and cutting them slices to share as they wait for dowoon to wake up. he says, “maybe you shouldn’t ask,” just as wonpil chimes in from the side, “there’s was this hotel we found. i think it was called a _love_ hotel and-”

“stop, no. jesus,” jae sputters, spitting out an orange seed. “forget i asked.” 

brian laughs, wonpil too, and it’s loud enough for dowoon’s eyes to flicker open. 

“look who’s back from the dead.” sungjin smiles, slipping down from his perch on the table and settling next to dowoon. the bedsheets crinkle where he sits.

“haha,” dowoon croaks out. “very funny.” 

“how many fingers am i holding up?” jae pushes his raised hand (two fingers) closer to dowoon’s face. “hey, answer me,” he snaps when all dowoon does is blink lazily and smile in wonpil’s direction. “i’m your doctor. don’t look at the brat. look here, how many fingers.” 

“jae,” brian says exasperated, pulling jae closer by the waist. 

“three,” dowoon says. then, “wait what?”

“i think you fried his brain, wonpil,” jae deadpans but he’s laughing and it’s purple-fond and easy-blue. 

“i do tend to have that effect on people.” wonpil shoots jae a smile, then he locks his hands with dowoon’s and squeezes once. “you okay?” 

“peachy,” dowoon says and the word bleeds color. 

// 

(wonpil is fifteen when he first meets yoon dowoon and comes to a decision: wonpil is going to fall in love with him or fall in love with no one else. he sees the shimmer of pink in the air when dowoon comes stumbling into camp, clutching at his chin because he knocked his head into a branch on his way up. wonpil takes him by the hand, watches the light diamond in around their locked fingers and says, “i like pink.” 

“uh, okay,” dowoon mumbles back, squints at wonpil like he’s seeing him for the first time. then he smiles, a bit dumbly, a bit tired, and says, “i like pink too.”)

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [tumblr](https://jahehyung.tumblr.com/)/[cc](https://curiouscat.me/ttamarrindo)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/ttamarrindo)! thank you for reading <3  
> comments/kudos are vv much appreciated <3


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